Town of Two Women (9781101612125) (7 page)

TWENTY-TWO

Tolbert pulled his pants back up. Angela Locksley stepped back, ran her fingers around her mouth to make sure she was clean.

“Is that what you had in mind?” she asked.

“That,” he said, “and money.”

“You'll get your money,” she said.

“Half before,” Wes Tolbert said, “and half after.”

“Okay.”

“Does your husband know about this?”

“No,” she said, “he doesn't know anything. He's useless.”

She turned to look at him, then closed on him and took hold of his arms.

“I need a man who can get things done, Wes,” she said. “Are you that man?”

He smiled at her.

“I just had you on your knees, didn't I?” he asked.

She smiled and said, “You want me on my back?”

“You know it.”

“Then you're my man,” she said, squeezing his arm.

*   *   *

Clint walked back to the café, which was empty by the time he got there. Amy was sitting at a back table, waiting to see if any customers would come late. Clint didn't smell anything cooking.

“Brought back your things,” he said.

“Thank you.”

She took the plates, forks, knives, and tray from him, and set them aside.

“I don't smell anything cooking.”

“The cook's gone,” she said.

“What happens if somebody comes in and wants to eat?” he asked.

“Then I cook.”

“Expecting anybody?” he asked.

She walked to the front doors, locked them, turned the sign hanging there so that it said
CLOSED
on the outside, then pulled the shades down. Then she turned to look at him, her hands behind her back.

“I was expecting you.”

“Were you?”

She nodded, walked toward him. She took her hands from behind her back and put them against his chest.

“Are you going to see Gina tonight?” she asked.

“Probably not.”

“Good.” She leaned in and kissed him, She smelled of fried foods and something else. He grabbed her, kissed her back. “I don't like to share.”

“Me neither,” he said.

Her body was solid inside her cheap dress. He took her apron off, lifting it over her head. She kept her hands up, so he followed with the dress. She was naked underneath. The smell of her sweat came from her armpits, not unpleasant. Her breasts were full, with heavy undersides and dark nipples. The tangle of hair between her thighs was darker than the blond hair on her head. He pulled away the ribbon that held it at the back of her neck, and her long hair fell free.

He put his arms around her, enjoying the solid feel of her against his body. Her skin was hot as he pulled her closer and kissed her again, mashing her breasts up against his chest.

She moaned into his mouth as his hands traveled down her back and cupped her buttocks. One of her hands slid between them, cupping his crotch. What she found there interested her.

She broke the kiss, pushed him back until the backs of his thighs banged against a table. He sat on it awkwardly, and she unbuttoned his pants and freed his hard penis. She stroked it with one hand, pulled on it, then went for his gun belt. He pushed her hands away and removed it himself, laid it within arm's reach. He let her do the rest, until she was on her knees in front of him, and his trousers and shorts were pooled around his ankles. She took his cock in her mouth and lovingly sucked it. She rubbed his thighs and his calves while continuing to suckle him, making wet sounds as her mouth moved up and down on him.

Eventually he put his hands beneath her arms and lifted her to her feet. He turned, set her down on the table, spread her thighs, and pressed his penis against her. He rubbed it along her wet slit, and then entered her quickly, cleanly.

She gasped, clutched him to her with her arms, and wrapped her legs around his waist. As he pumped his cock into her, the table jumped beneath them, and neither of them saw the eyes that were peering at them from beneath the shade . . .

*   *   *

Harley Trace watched as Clint Adams fucked the waitress—what was her name? Amy, yeah, that was it. It looked to him like the table they were on wasn't going to hold. He was waiting for it to fall apart beneath them.

He took his eyes from the window, looked around to be sure nobody was watching him. There were some women across the street, walking, so he had to move before they saw him.

He left the front of the café, crossed the street, found a doorway, and waited there . . .

*   *   *

“Oh, Jesus,” Amy said into his ear.

“What?”

She laughed.

“I think I got a splinter in my ass.”

“Want me to stop?”

“Oh, God, no,” she said, raking his back with her nails.

He slid his hands beneath her ass, between her and the wooden table, to keep her from getting another splinter, and continued to fuck her. Her breath came hard in his ears, sweet puffs of air. She was sweating, but it was different from the perspiration that had already dried on her. This felt different, smelled different . . . when he licked her shoulders, and the slopes of her breasts, bit her neck, it tasted different.

“I have a bed in the back,” she said.

“You own this place?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then take me there,” he said. He lifted her in his arms.

TWENTY-THREE

The bed was small, the mattress thin, but it offered more comfort than a restaurant table.

He made love to her once, then fucked her once. They were two different things, both glorious. Afterward, Clint and Amy lay together in her bed, their sweat cooling.

“What are you gonna do now?” she asked.

“I still have to find a safe place for Mary,” he said.

“You know they'll try to kill her if you don't get her out of town.”

“Yes.”

“Then why don't you leave tonight?”

“She can't ride,” he said. “She needs a couple of days.”

“And you need a place to hide her, 'cause they know she's at Doc's.”

“Right.”

“Is that what this was about?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I didn't know you'd be waiting for me . . . like this.”

“Then what?”

“I wouldn't ask you,” he said.

“Why not?”

“I wouldn't want to put you at risk,” he said. “Besides, there's no room here.”

She rolled over and looked at him.

“I have a house, a small one, outside of town,” she said. “Nobody knows about it. It's been closed up for a while. Take her there.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” she asked. “I want to help. She got a raw deal, didn't deserve to be run out of town.”

“Where were you when it happened?”

“In here,” she said, “serving steaks.”

He sat up.

“Are you going?”

“I've got to get Mary away from Doc's,” he said.

“Your clothes are in the café,” she reminded him as he looked around.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. He realized his gun was there, too. Not a smart thing to do. He could have been dead by now.

Stupid.

“Come on,” she said, getting out of bed. “Let's get dressed and I'll show you the house.”

*   *   *

Harley Trace watched as Clint and Amy came out the front door of the café. They started to walk away, but then abruptly Clint Adams stopped, and started across the street.

In a panic, Trace's feet would not move.

*   *   *

“Hold on a second,” Clint said to Amy. “I have to talk to someone.”

“Who?”

“Just wait.”

He stepped into the street to cross to the other side. The man he was approaching saw him, but seemed incapable of moving.

When Clint reached him, the man looked as if he was going to cry, or faint.

“What's your name?” Clint asked.

“Ha-Ha-Harley T-Trace.”

“You've been watching me since I got to town, Harley,” Clint said. “Why?”

“I—I—I was told to.”

“By who? Eric Locksley?”

“Oh, no, sir,” Trace said. “I'm, uh, workin' for the sheriff.”

“And what does he want you to do?” Clint asked.

“J-Just keep an eye o-on you.”

“And the girl?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Well,” Clint said, “I think you're done for the day, Harley.”

“Um, the sheriff said—”

“Never mind what the sheriff said,” Clint cut him off. “You're done.”

“B-But w-what—”

Trace had all the indications of being an alcoholic. Clint took some money from his pocket.

“Go and get yourself a drink or two,” Clint said, putting the coins in Harley's pocket. “Then, in a little while, come to the doc's. I'll be back there again.”

“But—”

“The sheriff never has to know,” Clint said. “Go. Otherwise I'm going to have to hurt you. Wouldn't you rather have a couple of drinks?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then go,” Clint said. “I'll see you later.”

Clint started back across the street.

“Mr. Adams?”

Clint turned.

“What?”

“You seen me right from the beginnin'?” Harley asked.

“Right from the start, Harley.”

“Jeez,” Harley said as the Gunsmith went back across the street. He swallowed hard as he realized the Gunsmith could have killed him anytime he wanted to.

*   *   *

“What was that about?” Amy asked.

“He's been watching me since I got to town.”

“Harley? He's usually only worried about his next drink.”

“Well, seems like the sheriff's got him on a short leash while he's watching me.”

“What did you do?”

“Gave him some money.”

“He'll go get drunk,” she said. “He'll be in a lot of trouble with the sheriff.”

“I told him I'd be at Doc's later, and to meet me there,” Clint said. “The sheriff won't hear from me that he went for a few drinks.”

“I hope he doesn't hear it from anybody.”

“Let's make this quick,” he said, “and nobody will have to get into trouble.”

“Okay,” she said. “This way.”

TWENTY-FOUR

The house was small, and musty from having been closed up for so long. Amy led Clint there as it was getting dark. Once there, she opened the door, and lit a lamp that was hanging on the wall.

“There's not much here anymore,” she said. “A chair, a cot. There's a stream out back where you can get fresh water. I think there's still a bucket.”

Clint looked around. The house had only two rooms. There was an old stove against one wall.

“The stove might still work if you put some wood in it.”

“She won't be here long enough to want to cook,” Clint said. “But this will do.”

“You want to bring her here tonight?” Amy asked.

“I'll go back and see if she can walk,” he said. “If I need a buckboard, it'll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“I have a buggy behind the café,” Amy said. “I can bring her here.”

“You've done enough—”

“Tonight's the time to do this,” Amy said. “You made sure that Harley will be drunk. No one's watching.”

“The danger—”

“We should stop arguing and go do it now, Clint.”

Clint stared at her, saw in her face that she would not be deterred.

“All right,” he said. “Let's go.”

*   *   *

Clint went back to the doctor's office while Amy went to fetch the buggy. Before he went inside, he looked around. No one was watching.

As soon as the doctor opened the door, he asked, “Where have you bee—”

“Can she walk?” Clint asked Mathis.

“I suppose so,” the doc said, “but she shouldn't ride.”

“Amy's bringing a buggy around,” Clint said. “I have a place to take Mary to keep her safe.”

“Where?”

“The less you know, the better.”

“I still have to treat her.”

“I'll come and get you, and bring you to her,” Clint said. “For now, just help me get her down the stairs and into the buggy.”

*   *   *

With Clint on one side and Mathis on the other, they walked her down the stairs. She was wearing the dirty clothes she'd had on when Clint found her.

Amy was waiting with a buggy, as promised.

“Amy,” Mary said. “Why are you doin' this?”

“I just want to help, Mary.”

Mary didn't seem to know how to respond, but finally she just said, “Thanks.”

Clint and Doc lifted her onto the seat next to Amy.

“Take her out there,” Clint said. “I'll be along.”

“We'll be fine,” Amy said. She looked at Mary. “I brought you some clean clothes. And we can give you a bath.”

“Oh, I'd love a bath!” Mary said.

Amy looked at Clint.

“By the time you join us,” she said, “you won't recognize her.”

“I'll look forward to it.”

He slapped the horse on the rump and they rode into the darkness.

“Is she taking her to her old house, outside of town?” Doc asked.

Clint asked, “You know about that?”

“I do.”

“Well, hopefully the Locksleys won't think of it.”

They went back up the stairs and into Doc's place.

“There's been a man watching us since we arrived,” Clint told him.

“What? Who?”

“Harley Trace.”

The doctor looked relieved.

“For a minute you scared me,” he said.

“Why aren't you scared?”

“Harley's a drunk.”

“I figured that, so I gave him some money. But he'll be back here soon.”

“Why is he watching us?”

“He says the sheriff told him to.”

“That's bad,” Doc said. “If the sheriff has been watching us, it's for Locksley.”

“Well,” Clint said, “maybe he has him watching me, not you. We'll find out when I leave here.”

“Where are you going?” the doc asked.

“I'll stay with Mary at Amy's house.”

“I'll come out there to treat her,” Doc said, “and make sure I'm not followed.”

“Okay,” Clint said. “Trace might be back here any minute.”

“I doubt it,” Doc said. “He's probably crawled into a bottle.”

“I didn't give him that much money,” Clint said. “A couple of drinks at best.”

“He'll get somebody else to buy him a drink,” Doc said.

“Just in case,” Clint said, “I'll get out of here now.”

“Go,” Doc said. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

Clint nodded, said, “Thanks, Doc.”

He left, went down the stairs, and stopped. He looked around, didn't see Trace or anyone else. Instead of walking on the street, he melted into the darkness of the alley, walked through to the other side, leading Eclipse. He used back streets to get to the end of town, then walked to Amy's house.

When he got there, he saw the light from the lamp inside. They were going to have to cover the windows to block that light, but the house would do.

For a while.